


Dodge-town

by shrift



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Cliche, Dubious Consent, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-24
Updated: 2004-03-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 22:31:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shrift/pseuds/shrift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Dick gets whammied, sex is had, Tim fails to deal, and then there are pastries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dodge-town

**Author's Note:**

> Current timelines have been fudged to facilitate the cliché porn. Beta by Nestra.
> 
> Te: Dick/Tim sex pollen. You know you want to...  
> shrift: This. Mmph. Um. Yes. Dick, he of the roving hands, getting whammied and then needing to *pet Tim everywhere*. A wreck of a bed. Sheets sticking to their skin...

"Slow night," Dick says by way of hello when Tim lands on the roof behind him. He's grinning down at the street, gloved hands gripping the building ledge. Tim hasn't been able to get the drop on him since the first time he visited Dick here. His security's gotten a lot better since then. And it helps that Dick really _is_ just that good.

Tim stands beside him and crosses his arms under his cape. "Define 'slow'."

Dick turns the grin on him, and it twists something low in Tim's gut. "Just the one near-death experience. Nobody's even _shot_ at me. I think they're slipping."

"Right," Tim says, and doesn't look at Dick like he's nuts. They've already had this conversation, and Dick isn't about to change his ways any more than Bruce is. "Was it a criminal who tried to kill you, or did you say the wrong thing to Oracle again?"

"You know..." Dick says. Tim sees the swat coming but doesn't duck. He absorbs the hit easily and lifts his hand to rub at the sting Dick's thick gloves leave behind, and on cue, Dick aims another swat at Tim's ass.

"Hey!"

"You're _still_ not too big to spank."

Tim narrows his eyes at Dick behind his mask, and spares a moment to wonder what it would be like if Dick ever _stopped_ flirting and followed through on what his body language keeps promising. At least those promises make Tim's dreams interesting. Better than the nightmares they all suffer from, anyway.

The dreams are interesting enough that he almost tells Dick to _try_ it.

But Tim doesn't say it. Won't say it. He has a lot of reasons why. Some of them are even valid.

Dick pulls a grapple from his boot. "There's been some action at the warehouses near the city docks. Blüdhaven Port Authority seems to think there's a new player in town smuggling happy plants." Dick fires the grapple and grins over his shoulder. "Interested in doing a little recon?"

"Lead the way," Tim says, and before he can finish the sentence, Dick's off the roof in a controlled fall, his body arching and curling in ways that Tim will never be able to mimic.

His grace in motion. His natural athleticism. His devil-may-care and sometimes _insane_ attitude.

He isn't that Robin. He doesn't want to be.

Tim follows Dick over the edge of the building and hits the jumplines. They swing over the streets, Dick's body twisting in the air a block ahead, wind rushing past his ears and the stench of the city thick in his nose. Following Dick isn't easy -- it's _never_ easy -- but it's satisfying. There's a _reason_ Tim has an archive of surveillance footage on him. He just likes watching Dick _move_.

And it's obvious that Dick likes to move, because they're definitely taking the scenic route to the docks. It's Tim's night off. He could've gone home, repaid some sleep-debts, called Steph, maybe caught a movie with Ives. But being around Dick is _easy_. Fewer secrets to keep and masks to wear, and sometimes Tim needs that.

He doesn't like lying. And sometimes it seems like that's all he does.

The first warehouse is a bust. The second houses nothing more dangerous than a small army of unpleasant rats. The third one looks more promising. It takes Dick a whole twenty seconds to bypass the security system, and there's an actual guard station inside the door.

Dick nudges him with his elbow. "Hey. Check out sleeping beauty."

The security guard is snoring away, head back and his feet propped on his desk. "Aw. You should kiss him, see if he wakes up and you're his prince."

Dick snorts quietly and moves to swat him again. This time, Tim rolls clear, as Dick no doubt expects. The guard might be sawing logs, but it would be deeply stupid to make any kind of noise above a whisper right now.

They're not stupid.

Five security cameras, three locked doors, and one awake security guard later, they finally reach the main warehouse. And it's not so much a warehouse anymore as it's a _greenhouse_. Row upon row upon row of exotic plants and sun lamps, the air a heady mixture of flowers and manure.

"Hoo boy," Tim mutters.

"Jackpot." Dick whistles softly. "You check out the office, see what you can dig up. I'm gonna get a little perspective on things." There's a quick flash of his teeth before Dick flies toward the ceiling. He waits until Dick balances easily on a narrow metal beam before turning toward the office. Computers. Files. _Details_. Tim is good at that.

Not nearly as good as Oracle, but then again, Dick's supposed to be the one with the ego, here.

Tim speed-reads through invoices and spreadsheets while the contents of the computer's hard drive download to the pygmy C.P.U. he carries on his belt. Shipments, deliveries, inventory, time sheets, vacation forms -- nothing out of the ordinary, not even one of Poison Ivy's known aliases.

He's on the middle row of the filing cabinet when he senses movement. He's already turning with a batarang in hand when he sees a flash of uniform and confirms that it's Dick. Relaxes. Goes back to the files.

"Find anything?" he asks. Dick doesn't answer, and that's... odd. He's used to it from Bruce, but... "Nightwing?"

Dick gooses him, and it's so not a surprise. Except Dick's hands don't seem to be going anywhere fast, and that _is_ a surprise.

Tim, as a rule, doesn't like surprises. They require too many contingency plans.

Dick's hands are under his cape and... _flexing_ on his ass, and -- he knows Dick is willing to go the extra mile for a joke, but they're _working_ right now, and -- "Um, Dick?"

"Mm?" Dick murmurs, and then steps close, crowding Tim against the open filing cabinet. Tim freezes, trying to think. Dick moves his hands, sliding them up Tim's back, over his shoulders. Dick's gloves make a soft hissing noise on his body armor.

Dick's _petting_ him.

Tim swallows. _Doesn't_ bite his lip. Says, "Dick, seriously. What. The hell."

"You smell --" Dick says, pushing closer, his hands still petting their way down Tim's abdomen. His words are lost in the skin of Tim's throat. Dick nuzzles him, presses his lips to Tim's skin. Licks, then _sucks_ , and Dick's hands are squeezing his groin armor hard enough that he can _feel_ it.

Tim inhales sharply. His body wants him to push back, to tilt his head and expose more of his throat. He forces himself not to move. He's dreamed of this -- Dick, his hands, his _mouth_. He's dreamed of this for _years_ , and he can't --

He can't let himself focus on how good this feels.

Something must have happened in the warehouse. Obviously. But _what_?

"I need you to talk to me, Dick," he says. "I need --"

Dick bites his neck, and Tim's breath catches in his throat, goes ragged for a moment. He grits his teeth and covers Dick's hands with his own, dragging them up to his hips and holding them there. Tim knows he won't be able to hold him long if Dick decides he wants to move. He twists in Dick's arms, tilts back his head, and --

Dick's face is flushed, his dark air damp at the temples. Tim tugs off a glove and presses it to Dick's cheek. He's warm to the touch, and he leans into Tim's hand, turning his face and licking at Tim's palm. This time Tim _does_ bite his lip. Dick isn't _talking_ , and that's a clue right there. He _never_ stops talking unless something's seriously wrong. Dick keeps up a running commentary even when he thinks he's _alone_ , so what...

Tim's mind races. Impairment of self-critical faculty, dilution of inhibitions, physical manifestation of sympt--

The _plants_.

Dick's hands are on his ass again. Dick lifts him up and pushes him back, and the middle drawer slams back on its rails into the filing cabinet behind him. His grin is fierce, face too close.

And it's time to play 'placate the dangerous drugged guy.' He's played this game lots of times. He just never thought he'd have to play it with _Dick_.

"The plants," Tim says. "Dick, I think you're under the influence of --"

Dick pins him against the filing cabinet and slides his hands over the backs of Tim's thighs. Tugs, and doesn't stop until he has Tim's legs wrapped around him, and then he _grinds_ against him. Tim's body armor rubs against Dick's kevlar, pushing the edges of the armor into the softer parts of his body. It hurts, just a little.

It doesn't hurt _enough_.

"...some kind of psychoactive pheromone or drug from the plants --"

Dick slides one hand up Tim's back and cups his jaw, his gloved thumb brushing over Tim's lower lip.

"Tim," Dick says finally.

He closes his eyes, just for a moment. "Yeah?"

Dick kisses him. Kisses him hard, with _intent_ , his mouth wide and wet. Tim can't stop it, doesn't _want_ to stop it, and he moans around Dick's tongue. The sound makes Dick kiss him harder, and now Tim knows that Dick kisses like he fights, wild and deadly, and with his entire body. He doesn't know how he's ever going to _stop_ \--

Oh, god, they have to stop.

He can't get out of Dick's hold without hurting him. Tim can't hurt him -- he _never_ wants to hurt Dick -- but they can't do this here. It's too dangerous, and they need to _go_. He thumps Dick's shoulder with his fist. Dick pulls back and stares at him, mouth red and open, panting.

Tim is hard, and Dick is very, very distracting.

"We can't -- not here," he says. Dick lets go of him and steps back, and Tim sags against the filing cabinet. He feels a flash of relief. Disappointment. _Relief_. He picks up his glove from the floor, puts it back on. Reaches around Dick for his C.P.U. and clips it to his belt. "C'mon."

He leads them out of the warehouse, Dick following so closely that Tim can feel Dick's breath on the back of his neck. They slip out a side door that leads into an alley. It's empty and dark, and it looks like they're clear.

"Listen," Tim says, turning around, "we need to get you to a medical facil -- oof!"

"You're coming with me," Dick says, his shoulder hitting Tim in the gut as he pulls him into a fireman's carry. Dick hits the jumplines before Tim can break his hold, and as they're flying through the air, Tim has a few minutes to think. He can't struggle. The lines will handle the extra weight, but this is dangerous. If it was anyone but Dick carrying him, Tim would say it was suicide.

Dick trained with Bruce for a _lot_ longer than Tim has, and Dick knows all of his tricks. There's a very low possibility that he'll be able to get Dick to a medlab unless Dick's willing to go, and the alternative is...

The alternative is to let Dick have what he wants.

It's _selfish_ and he shouldn't, but this may be his only chance, especially after the plant mojo wears off. Things between them will change -- already _have_ changed -- and he _wants_ it.

Wants Dick.

Tim's wanted him for a really long time. For as long as he can remember. Dick makes it easy for people to want him.

Dick lands on a familiar fire escape and sets Tim down. He opens a window and Tim slips inside it ahead of him, and then the grip on Tim's shoulder urges him forward into the darkness. He's gotten used to seeing things in the dark. They all have -- Dick calls it batvision. And what he sees now is that they're in Dick's bedroom.

Dick strips off his uniform in a few quick moves, and Tim makes a mental note to have a talk with him about how much kevlar he's _not_ wearing these days. And then he's not wearing anything at all, not even his mask. He's just standing there, naked and aroused. Flushed skin, flexing muscle, his nipples already hard.

Tim sees the look Oracle gets sometimes when she's looking at Dick, like she's looking at something so beautiful it makes her heart ache. And that's what Dick is... beautiful.

"Want you," Dick says, stepping close. He reaches for Tim's uniform, and Tim covers Dick's callused and scratched hands with his own. He's made some modifications to the Robin suit since Dick last saw him take it off. There's a rhythm to it, disarm and remove, starting with the cape. Belt, tunic, gloves, boots, mask. Impatient, Dick helps with the rest, until Tim's skin is bare.

He's been undressed in front of Dick before, but not like _this_ , with Dick's warm, rough hands touching him. Touching his throat, shoulders, sliding down the outside of his arms and back up, pausing to scrape Tim's nipples with his thumbnails. Tim gasps and leans into his touch, and Dick smiles like he knows Tim's finally given in.

Dick kisses him, pushing his tongue into Tim's mouth, slowly at first, then faster and faster, like he wants to eat Tim alive. Tim opens his mouth and kisses him back just as hard as Dick walks them to the bed. Tim lets Dick trip him onto the mattress, and Dick covers him a moment later. His body is warm and heavy, scarred and strong, and Tim learns it with his palms and fingertips. Memorizes it for later.

Tim makes a short, breathy noise when he feels Dick's cock brush his own. The noise escalates into a groan when Dick grinds their cocks together with a slow circle of his hips. Dick kisses his neck, messy and wet. Sucks until it stings. Tim digs his fingers into Dick's back and spreads his legs as wide as he can.

"Please," he says.

Dick bites his earlobe. "Tell me what you want."

" _Please_ ," Tim says again. "I --" He doesn't _know_. He doesn't know how to do this. He doesn't know what he can have, but he wants -- "Everything."

"Oh." Dick smiles against his cheek. "Good."

Dick leaves a trail of damp, reddened skin on Tim's body. He can feel his heartbeat in his ears, at his groin, fluttering in the bottom of his left foot where it's pressed against the covers. Dick pushes his tongue into Tim's navel, and Tim clenches his hands in the sheets.

He wraps his hand around Tim's cock and dips his head, and Tim's abdominal muscles tremble slightly with the effort to remain still. Dick licks the head of Tim's cock, and the drag of his tongue makes Tim feel like he's breaking open inside.

" _Oh_ ," he says when Dick licks him again, licks and squeezes his hand, and then sucks him down with a happy groan. Tim bites his lip and clutches at the sheets even harder. The wet sucking noises Dick's making -- the way his mouth looks stretched around Tim's cock -- he can't control the way his body is moving anymore.

Dick reaches for Tim's hands and puts them on his head, and Tim sinks his fingers into Dick's hair. It's getting long again, and it's soft under his palms. Dick smiles up at him, sucks a little harder, and then works his finger into Tim's ass. Tim slams his head back against the pillow and thrusts up with his hips. With his other hand, Dick traces his fingertips up the back Tim's thigh and scratches his fingernails over the soft skin behind Tim's knee.

It feels so good. He had no _idea_ it felt this good. Crimes of passion suddenly make a weird kind of _sense_ , and Dick's finger causes a burning kind of stretch that Tim needs more of _right now_. Dick's brow is furrowed in concentration, his cheeks hollow. He fucks Tim with his finger until Tim comes with a moan strangling in his throat.

Dick kneels up while Tim is still panting, licks his lips, and rolls Tim over onto his stomach. Tim presses his face into the sweaty pillow and spreads his legs while Dick pulls something from an unpacked box next to the bed. Flip of a snap-top bottle, sound of the bottle landing on the floor, and then Dick's cool fingers smooth over Tim's ass and push inside.

His heart's still hammering and the sheets are sticking to his skin, and he is _not_ panicking because he is _not_ afraid. Dick kisses the back of his neck and takes his fingers away, and then pushes the slick head of his cock inside Tim's ass. Tim gasps and tenses, and --

" _Breathe_ ," Dick growls, and god, he almost sounds like _Bruce_.

"I --" Tim says, and then Dick kisses him even though the angle's awkward, his hands moving everywhere on Tim's skin.

"Breathe," he says again, and he sounds like himself, so Tim breathes and Dick slides in farther. And then he's all the way inside, and Dick's body presses him into the sheets. He aches and he needs, and when Dick thrusts into him, Tim cries out for more. The slide in, the slap of skin, the heavy scent of them in the air and their sweat dripping onto the sheets.

Dick has him on his hands and knees, and his arms are trembling as Dick fucks him. Tim's moaning all the time now, thrusting back, his hair hanging in his eyes and Dick's teeth marking his shoulder. Dick's breathing stutters, and he stops biting in order to push his face in the crook of Tim's neck. His groan is loud and his body trembles above him, and Tim realizes that Dick is coming.

When Dick slumps down on top of him, Tim reaches down and strokes his cock. Hard and fast, because he's so close again, and then Dick murmurs something and kisses Tim's neck, and he comes all over his hand and the sheets.

* * *

He wakes up entangled in the damp sheets with Dick's arm wrapped around his waist.

Tim's eyes pop open and he thinks about having a panic attack. It's still dark out, so he hasn't overslept, and --

He's in bed with Dick. His ass is kind of sore. He has a history test in second period that he hasn't studied for, and he's so past curfew at this point that sneaking in is going to be a delicate operation.

He has to go home, if only because that's where his homework is.

Okay. First things first. Ever so slowly, Tim eases out of bed. The floor is cold, and the hair on his skin prickles in reaction. Dick shifts a little in sleep. Tim watches him carefully until he's sure that Dick hasn't woken up, and then he crosses to his rumpled uniform. He feels his body more than he's used to as he tugs on the suit. Feels his muscles ache in new places. Feels sweat and come smudged on his skin like ink. Smells himself.

Tim smells like sex.

He pauses in the window of Dick's bedroom and looks back. The bed's a mess, the fitted sheets pulled from underneath the mattress. Dick sprawls across the bed bonelessly, the beginnings of a beard shadowing his cheek and his shaggy hair falling over his forehead. His back is a shadow of muscle and scars.

Tim has to make himself leave.

He hops a train back to Gotham and then uses the jumplines to get back to his neighborhood. No lights are on in the house, so Tim lands quietly and picks the lock on the roof access door. He changes out of his uniform in the dark hallway just inside it. His dad and Dana aren't waiting up for him, and Tim gives thanks for small favors.

It's a lot easier to lie to their faces when he hasn't been out doing anything _sordid_.

He cleans himself up in the bathroom. Puts on his pajamas. Sets the alarm clock. Crawls into bed. Tim isn't ready for it when the alarm goes off a few hours later, but he puts on his clothes, anyway. Grabs his backpack. Takes a piece of toast out of Dana's hand as he breezes through the kitchen, and yells thanks over his shoulder.

School is a welcome distraction. At first. But he's used to meeting _Bruce's_ expectations, and his classes are basically a walk in the park after that -- a walk in the park without any supervillains around to pummel.

Tim doesn't quite know how to deal with this. Robin isn't made for this kind of thing. Robin doesn't have _sex_ , but apparently Tim does. Has. _Did_ , just last night.

Neither the Robin suit nor the Tim suit feel like they fit today, and so he goes through the motions in his classes, feeling weirdly exposed all day and a knot of tension growing between his shoulder blades.

But at least he didn't bomb his history test this morning. Well, probably didn't.

"Dude, what is wrong with you?"

Tim looks up from where he's been staring into his open locker. "Huh?"

Bernard pushes his sunglasses up onto his forehead. He's wearing blue again today. Tim's beginning to suspect that he doesn't own any other color clothing. "I've been calling your name for, like, the last _hour_ , Drake."

"Um," Tim says, and realizes he doesn't know how to lie about this yet. He shuts his locker.

"Come with me," Bernard says, slinging his arm around Tim's shoulders. "We shall partake of sugary carbonation and greasy french fries, and you can tell Uncle Bernard all about it."

Tim snorts. "Right. And just so you know? Never call yourself 'Uncle Bernard' in my presence again."

Bernard drags him to Tweedle D's, and Tim lets him, because he doesn't want to go home yet, and he's too unsettled for a visit to the Batcave. Bernard orders for them both, then looks at Tim with open calculation as he chews on the end of his straw.

"So what gives, Drake?"

"Bernard," he says, slouching in the booth seat, "do you really expect me to burden you with my existential angst today?"

"Hey, man, I told you about Darla," Bernard says, and then he winces. "And speaking of Darla, I'll never have a chance with her if guys like _that_ keep coming in here."

Tim very carefully doesn't turn around to look. "You need to stop underestimating yourself, Bernard."

"And _you_ ," Bernard says, tossing a crumpled napkin across the table that Tim easily dodges, "need to stop avoiding the question."

Bernard's eyes go big, and then someone sits down in the booth next to him and slides his arm over Tim's shoulders. Tim freezes as the person asks, "What question would that be?"

Tim glances to his left. Dick smiles at him widely, and it flips something inside his chest. He's wearing a T-shirt and a worn pair of jeans that are about as loose as his uniform, and that really isn't helping.

Dick squeezes his shoulder. "Hey."

"Hey," Tim says.

Dick gives him a whole-body nudge. "You could've left a note."

And Tim just stares at him, because what could he possibly have _said_?

"It's okay," Dick says, and plunks a Frosty & Fillin' bag on the table in front of him. "I forgive you."

"You forgive me," Tim says, eyeing the bag.

"Well," Dick says, waving his hand around and scooting closer on the bench seat. "Sorry? I got your favorites. Figured you could use the energy."

Tim squints at him. "And you wonder why people dump you."

"Not really," Dick says. He leans closer and whispers, "Detective, remember?"

Tim sees Bernard staring at them, and tries to pretend that he isn't turned-on. "I'm aware of that, thanks."

"Good," Dick whispers. He reaches into the bag, pulls out a donut, and stuffs it in Tim's mouth. Dick looks across the table at Bernard and holds out his hand. "Hi, there."

Bernard shakes Dick's hand, and then sits back with his fingers steepled and looking at them like he's got it all figured out. "Your name wouldn't happen to be _Stefan_ , would it?"

He really is convinced that Steph doesn't exist, which is kind of funny, considering that she's one of the few things he _isn't_ lying about. Tim shakes his head and licks at the cream filling of his donut.

Dick raises an eyebrow. "Do I look like a Stefan to you?"

Tim finishes chewing and wistfully thinks about gagging them both. "Bernard, meet Dick. Dick, Bernard."

" _Dick_?" Bernard demands. "You actually go by Dick?"

Dick just grins. It's the self-assured, brilliant grin he uses to charm people and to get out of trouble with the family. Bernard goes a little pink in the face, and Tim wonders if his 'modern, enlightened men' speech the other day was actually Bernard flirting with him.

Interesting.

"Hey, Tim," Dick says suddenly, squeezing his shoulder, "Wanna see my new bike?"

"Sure, Dick," Tim says as Bernard boggles at them some more. "I'd love to see your etchings."

"Nice meeting you, Bernard," Dick says and stands up, and Tim slides out of the booth after him, stuffing the donuts into his backpack. Bernard waves at them jerkily as Dick guides Tim out of the diner with a hand on his lower back. Dick's motorcycle is parked just outside, and Tim crosses his arms while Dick straddles it.

"Thanks," he says. "Tomorrow I'm gonna be 'Tim Drake -- dude, _gay_ , and I hear he's doing some _older_ guy.'"

Dick smirks and tosses him the spare helmet. "Some _hot_ older guy."

Tim sighs, puts on the helmet, and sits behind Dick. He holds on tightly, and not just because it feels good. Dick drives like a _maniac_ , and he goes through motorcycles like most people go through Kleenex. After about fifteen minutes of hair-raising turns and squawking tires, Dick pulls into a dingy alley that would be dangerous if they were anyone else. Dick kills the motor, and Tim jumps off the bike a second later and leaves his helmet on the seat. Dick just lounges on the bike and lazily pulls off his own helmet. He shoves his hand through his shaggy hair, and says, "So. About last night."

"I --" Tim can't look at him while he does this. "I'm sorry."

Dick snorts. "Okay, _what_?"

"I... used you."

"Yeah," Dick says appreciatively.

"I _used_ you," Tim says again.

"Heard you the first time, boy wonder."

Tim rounds on him. "Jeez, are you even _listening_ to me?"

"Uh huh." Dick leans closer and strokes his thumb over Tim's turtleneck, right where the bruise is that he left on Tim's neck last night. "Used me. Go on."

Tim stares at him. "Wait --"

"I've _been_ waiting," Dick says, and leaps off the bike. He backs Tim against the alley wall and plants his hands on either side of Tim's head. "Okay, look, you don't get to be guilty about this one. Got that?"

Tim crosses his arms tightly and looks to the side. "Right."

"Oh, come on," Dick says. "If anybody should be feeling guilty, it's me. I mean, I was the one who took you to that warehouse, and _I'm_ the one who decided to take a closer look at the crazy sex plants. You're the one who got us out of there and got me home, and basically saved our collective bacon."

Tim looks at him with his peripheral vision. "You're not acting very guilt-ridden."

"'Cause I'm not really feeling the guilt, here, Tim. And considering that I get yelled at a lot for taking on too much of the blame, that ought to mean something."

Dick shifts closer and Tim's breathing goes shallow. "Then what are you feeling?"

"Hey, look at me," Dick says, and Tim does. He looks indulgent and amused, and kind of like he's up to something. "Guess what, squirt? I've been flirting with you for _years_. Because -- hey, free tip for you -- you're _hot_."

"I'm -- what?"

Dick takes Tim's face between his hands and kisses him with slow, messy strokes of his tongue. They're both breathing faster when Dick stops and rests his forehead against Tim's. "You like it. I _know_ you like it. You can't _hide_ that anymore."

"Dick," Tim says, and unfolds his arms to take hold of Dick's wrists. The moment is full of weight. Tension. Promise.

Until Dick grins. "You're still freaking out, aren't you?"

Tim glares. "No."

"You totally are."

Tim glares at him a little harder.

"Don't worry. I think it's cute."

"And I'm thinking that I'd like to see what a tangler grenade does to your _face_ ," Tim says.

"Ooh, kinky," Dick says. "I can do kinky."

"Having a trapeze in your bedroom doesn't count as kinky when you're _you_ , Dick."

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it," Dick says, and then steps back. He gets back on his motorcycle and picks up his helmet. "I'm gonna head back to the 'Haven, maybe track down the source of the crazy sex plants." Dick tosses his helmet in the air and then catches it. "You game?"

Tim waits a moment longer than necessary just to see the worry creep into Dick's expression. "We're going in with gas masks this time, right?"

Dick just grins and puts on his helmet.


End file.
